Pipe Dreams
by clemi
Summary: When Annie was 15, there were only three things she was absolutely sure of. One, her sister would always be better than her at everything. Two, people would not stop making fun of her name until she died. And three, well, two was stupid, because anyone who paid her any attention knew her as Sylvia's kid sister. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My first go at a sis-fic. So, please tell me what you like, and areas where I need improvement. **

**Rated T for language.**

* * *

**Too Old for Dress Up**

Rachel Smith didn't invite me to her birthday dinner, and I don't know why it makes me so mad. Maybe it's because Caroline Blalock was invited, and I talk to Rachel all the time in English. I don't think I've ever seen her and Caroline Blalock have a conversation together.

I mention it to Sylvia. I pretend like it doesn't bother me. I give her the chance to call Rachel every dirty word under the sun. She doesn't take it. She finishes putting on her blue eye shadow. I don't know what I expected. She's getting ready for a date, so why should she care about any of my problems? Even though I listened to her bitch about Irene, and I didn't even complain. I even snuck her a dinner roll and chicken breast into our room.

I watch Sylvia in the mirror. She teases up her blonde hair, smoothing out the wrinkles in her new pink mini-dress. She would've been invited to Rachel's party for sure. She would've walked into that dinner and stolen the show. That's just who Sylvia is. She is a flame. She burns bright, especially in the dark. She is a flame, and I live in her shadow.

I really wish she chose the green dress. When I suggested it she laughed, and laughed. She told me she'd wear that to Sunday school, not even regular school, and that I was welcome to it if I liked it so much. But I don't know why she'd be ashamed to show off her eyes. At least she got mom's. I got my dad's eyes, and his toes, and even worse—his nose, stubby and short in all of its glory.

A honk resounds outside, echoing off the pavement, still slick from the rain. I know then he will be another one of _those _boyfriends, dangerous and exciting—and Sylvia's bread and butter.

She slinks over to the window, like a cat. Long torso and breasts lodged high on her chest. If anyone could wiggle out a window and down a drainpipe, and somehow manage to make it look graceful, Sylvia does. But, she's got no choice. If Irene catches her going out when she's grounded she'll tell dad, and dad will get mad, and dad will rip the lock out of our door, and then what will stop him from coming up here after he's had a long day?

While she's gone I slip into the green dress. It's light, and silky, and only emphasizes the fact that I don't have boobs, or a butt. But, it certainly emphasizes the baby fat that stubbornly sticks to my mid section. It tickles the bottom of my knees. I twirl in it, but when I come to a stop my eyes are still brown, and my ears are still huge.

Knowing my sister, I'd never get to meet the guy she is probably riding. But, that's OK. Because, I know he has sharp blue eyes, and fingers that make her's roll up into her head. Or, at least, that's what she said happened in the back of biology class. He takes up a whole two pages in her diary, so he must be a real dream.

The bitch comes in without knocking. The bitch sees the diary in my hand and tilts her head, and smiles. She will tell Sylvia, and do what she does. She will pit us against each other, because that's what she's good at. I hate her more than Sylvia. I could watch her have stroke, right here and now, and I'd watch and not lift a finger to help her.

"Where's your sister?"

"The bathroom."

"Why's she in there?"

"Do I really need to explain what goes on in the John, Irene?" She narrows her eyes, and I'm not one bit scared of her. But I am scared of the old man, and now I've just guaranteed a bruised rib to lull me to sleep tonight. "She's on the rag."

"You better learn to watch your mouth." Her fists plant firmly to her sides. She's nothing compared to my mother. My mother is the sun and the moon, and Irene is Keystone, merely a reflection of her. I can't remember what mom looks like. There aren't any pictures of her around the house. But, I know she's prettier than Irene, I just do. "Just wait till your father gets home."

The bitch leaves. I throw my shoe where her head use to be. I liked the bitch at first. We had girl days, and she painted my toes red, even when my dad said no. She curled my hair like Sylvia's, and bought me a white sundress, and told me I looked like an angel. Then she told dad about the time Linda and I watered down her mother's whiskey, because the night before we'd drunk ourselves silly. I shouldn't have trusted her, but how could I not? She pretended to be on my side. Then she came in and took over, and kicked me out of my room and gave it to her son.

I open the music box on the dresser. The ballerina twirls around to a tune like the one in "Romeo and Juliet". I twirl too. I open the window, and the gentle breeze curls around my arms, beckoning me outside. I could get out. I could head towards the lights, and walk until I find the ocean, and by then I'll be a whole different person, and the view will be ten times better than the one from my bedroom window. But, I keep twirling. I imagine dancing myself right out of this house, to somewhere else. That's what mom did. Left, and took all the music and light with her. Wherever she is, I bet she's happy.

My dad busts in halfway through the song, half-crocked, and I don't even have the time to be embarrassed the dress is only half-zipped. He doesn't waste any time. He's a practical man. He knows his dinner is getting cold.

I lie on my back, on my bed. Not for long. He grabs my arm and shakes it. His fingers dig into my flesh. And then comes the sting, I can't even register the sound of his belt because it stings so badly over and over and over.

"I thought I taught you to watch your mouth," he says. He taught me many things, watching my mouth was not one. He taught me how to smother someone, till all that's left is an idea. Then how to take that idea and hold on to it for dear life, like a life preserver in the middle of a storm.

I don't utter a sound, and that makes him angrier. He knocks me on my back, with his fist. "Why would you do that?" He asks. But he wants to know why I don't like her. I see it in his expression, even if it's hard to look because he's hitting me so fucking hard. He's trying. I know he's trying. He wants me to like the bitch again, because maybe then he can start liking her too.

I say awful things, and I mean every last one. Mom left because of him, he's a lousy dad, I hate him, I wish he would leave too. Eventually he does, by then blood pours from my nose. Sylvia won't be able to wear this dress again, even to Sunday school.

I curl up there. My face hurts too much to do anything else. He hasn't done this in a long time. Maybe it's because he and Irene don't have sex anymore. That's what Sylvia says.

Sylvia. I hope she's happy I covered for her. Even it means my nose is probably broken. She sure as hell seems happy when she stumbles through the door at four in the morning. Her toe catches on a stray go-go boot. She curses.

She hovers over my bed, and kisses the bruise on my cheek. She whispers she loves me in my ear. She tells me next time something like this happens she'll be here to protect me. She tells me to never change, because I'm better then all of them. I can smell the sex and booze and night on her breath.

What she doesn't say is, tomorrow morning she will maim me for bleeding on her dress—even if she didn't want it. She will find out I read her diary (she always does), and tell me I'm such a little shit. Then she will go right back to ignoring me, and tracing the trail of dime-sized bruises along her neck she came home with. Then dad will see, because she will wear them proudly, and everything will fall apart all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Puppy Love**

"Bryon Douglas _likes _you."

That's what Jamie comes all the way across the lunchroom to tell me. I know she must think it is of the upmost importance, because she doesn't like to sit with Linda and I anymore. I watched her sashay towards me with her new shiny skirt and shiny hair and shiny smile. Maybe if I join the cheerleading squad I'll get pretty too.

All that comes to mind when I hear the name Bryon Douglas is a big German Shepard puppy. I remember those brown eyes of his, because he used them just fine to get out of a detention slip in Algebra. I know he dated Tammy a few weeks ago, or Cammy, or Tiffany, or Bethany, or something. My heart skips a beat. What if I do something wrong? What if he saw me scarfing down my PB&J earlier and no longer likes me. Did he see me yesterday? When I had a zit on my chin the size of Oklahoma.

"I hardly know him." I say.

Sandy and Evie walk Linda and I to our next class. But it feels strange, because they are Sylvia's friends, and she'll scratch my eyes out if she catches me talking to them. They play with my hair, and pull it out of its ribbon. It falls down my back in cotton candy curls. I can't even run my fingers all the way through it. They pinch my cheeks and tell me to walk with my shoulders back, and all I can wonder is, how did they find out about Bryon?

Linda pegs me in the side of the head with a note during history.

"Should I tell Bryon you like him?" I read. I scribble on the wrinkled up notebook paper rapidly. No, no, no, _no_. I scowl at my best friend as she scans the note.

The thought of Bryon looking at me and thinking about me seemed so appealing in the lunchroom. But, now that it's real, I feel sick to my stomach. I don't know how to be a girlfriend. I've never even held hands with a boy.

The ring of the final bell rolls around. I eagerly rush out of the classroom and towards my locker, hoping to avoid contact with anyone and everyone. I shove books into my bag. _Foundation Art_, I don't even have that this semester. I don't really care, though. I make it out of the large front doors. Linda waits for me at the bottom of the steps. I grab her elbow so we can start the walk home, but she won't budge. I tug on her some more, but she's grinning, and putting up a hell of a fight—something Linda never does.

"Let's _go_." I am irritated now. She's going to ruin everything, but she thinks she's doing me a favor. I want to scream at her, that I don't care about Bryon. I could give a rat's ass if he wants to get in my pants. But people all around the parking lot are already staring at us, and I don't want to draw any more attention.

"Go for it Douglas! Yeah! Woohoo!" Someone shouts. I turn my head to look for them, when someone taps on my shoulder.

He doesn't even give me time to open my mouth and say hi, before he's kissing me. He plants his hands on my waist, and kisses me even when I attempt to push him off. After a while I give in, and I can't hear the whistles or cheers anymore, and there is this rushing in my ears, and a solid thud, and Linda squeaks.

My eyes drift open. The ground is rough and uncomfortable beneath me. I am lying on the pavement just outside of school. Linda grips my hand. I sit up fast, almost ramming my own head into hers. Most people have gone home. Those who remain look at me and snicker. I bury my head in my hands. My life is over, this time I really went and ruined it.

"Do you need me to get the nurse? Boy, but you can fall hard." Linda rushes out. Maybe afraid I'll take another dive into the street.

Bryon is nowhere to be found. If I wanted him to leave me alone, I really got what I wished for.

I replay the scene over and over in my head, and each time my face screws tighter into a cringe. I was never known for being weak kneed. Maybe I get it from my mom, and she fainted after her first kiss too. Maybe Sylvia did.

"Annie, somebody's waving at you." I raise my head, my hands still planted on my face. I can make out a red T-bird between the gaps of my fingers.

"Jesus Fucking Christ, get in the car." It's my sister, in some guy's car. The last thing I want is to drive around with her and her boyfriend, but I'd rather die than stay here and be laughed at. I climb into the backseat, and wave goodbye to Linda. "Oh, I shouldn't even be giving you a ride home. You are so embarrassing."

I glare at the back of her head. "How'd you even find out?"

She whips around and hisses, "_Please_, the entire school saw you." She looks as if she'd like to spit on me. I bet if her stupid lover weren't here she would have.

"Fuck, what are you screeching about now?" His sunglasses hang low on his nose, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Everything about him is nonchalant and aloof.

Sylvia tugs on little tufts a white hair that sprout along his neckline. "Go ahead, A-word. Tell 'em all about how you fainted when that JD kissed you—and there wasn't even any tongue."

Her boyfriend cackles. I pout some more. "Holy shit, I thought girls only fainted like that in movies." He turns around to look at me at a stop light. Heat radiates underneath my skin, I'm sure I look as red as a tomato. He studies me like I'm some dopey puppy you try not to laugh at because you feel sorry for it.

"Why don't you quit checking out my sister and _go_? The light's green." Sylvia smacks his shoulder. The car behind us honks, he flips them the bird before peeling out. I pick at a loose string on the hem of my skirt. "You know, Annie, you might be the saddest person at Will Rogers." I see my sister smirk in the rearview mirror. "But, at least you have a boyfriend now."

* * *

I walk into school the next day, mortified. Nobody really talks about the incident, on the steps outside of school, where my entire reputation came crashing down onto the concrete with me. It seems, being Bryon Douglas' girlfriend is a hotter topic.

He meets me at my locker and offers to carry my books to homeroom. I don't know what to do, so I just blush and let a crooked grin split across my face. He laughs and drapes and arm around my soldiers, and it feels more like we're brother and sister than boyfriend and girlfriend.

I'm still confused. He didn't even ask me to go steady with him. But everyone saw him kiss me, so I guess he was marking his territory.

He waits for me at the end of all of my classes, and carries my books everywhere. I walk with him and his friends down to the drugstore for lunch. I'm not sure how to act around them, because Irene is always saying how ladies sit still and stay quiet. I don't know if Bryon likes that too. But when he laughs when I shoot a spitball at the waitress, I feel something fuzzy in my stomach. Maybe being his girlfriend won't be so bad after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you all for the reviews and encouragement! I hope you enjoy this longer chapter. **

**Remember, if y'all have any questions or criticism don't hesitate. **

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**The Dancing Queen**

When you're 15 you only look good once a week, and it's never the day of the fall dance. I try to persuade Sylvia to do my hair or makeup, or at least tell me how she manages to sneak out of the house looking like she does. She tells me my hair is a lost cause, and that I look like a 12-year-old, so how do I expect to look good with makeup on? I ask her what I should I wear, and she tells me she doesn't give a flying fuck as long as it's not overalls.

Sylvia's fashion advice wouldn't have done much good anyway. I had to ask my dad for permission to go to the dance. The bitch overheard, which meant I had to get an Irene approved outfit. Which is how I end up wearing a skirt down to my knees, and a blouse buttoned up to my neck.

The bitch barges in on me in the bathroom, and wipes off the eyeliner I'd been trying to apply. She fusses over me, and ties my hair into two pigtails. I look in the mirror and clench my fists. I have the sex appeal of Shirley Temple. The bitch smiles and tells me I'm the daughter she never had. I march back into my room before I rip off her false lashes.

"Fix me, _please_." I clasp my hands in front of me like I'm praying. I might as well be, because the only way Sylvia would ever help me is if God came down from heaven and told her to.

She laughs and laughs until she's clutching her sides and gasping for air. "Oh, Brett's going to love this."

"Bryon." I clench my teeth.

She rolls her eyes and flips through a magazine. "Whatever."

"Annie?" Someone knocks on the door. Sylvia turns her gaze away from me, and shoots a glare at our stepbrother so sharp it could cut glass. He takes a step back. "Uh, your friend Linda's at the door." He pushes his glasses further up his nose and looks at me. "I like your pigtails." He blurts. Sylvia snickers into her pillows.

I push past him in the doorway.

"No, really, I like 'em." He rushes out, catching on to the fact he offended me. I narrow my eyes at him, but no matter how many times I practice in the mirror, my stare will never be as penetrating as Sylvia's.

But what I lack in looks, I make up for with a sharp tongue. "At least I have friends to go to the dance with." He flinches, and guilt blooms in my chest. It dissolves quickly, when I remember that we aren't really brother and sister, so what did he expect? "Why don't you just go read the encyclopedia or something?"

"Okay," He mumbles and scurries back into his room.

I head down the stairs and try not to picture the way the corners of his eyes tightened, as if he was trying not to cry.

"Be home by ten!" The bitch calls as I walk out the door. Linda sits on the railing of our porch, swinging her legs back in forth. She could never sit still. She'd been like this ever since she was a kid. She sat in her chair in history, fidgeting and tapping her feet, and staring out the window like a caged bird.

Her eyebrows draw up in sympathy when she sees my hair. "I like your shirt."

I smile at her suddenly glad she's the one walking me to the dance, instead of Bryon. He looked awful sorry when he told me he'd have to meet me there. I wasn't mad, it's not his fault he doesn't have a car.

I don't live so far from Will Rogers. Still, Linda and I walk backwards down the street, arms outstretched, looking to bum a ride. Nobody stops. Maybe if I stick my leg out in the road a car will pull over, like Ellie Andrews did in "It Happened One Night". I mention it to Linda and she grins, saying Sylvia could probably pull it off. I roll my eyes, because she could.

I fix my hair in the parking lot of school. It's dark, and the window of some Chevy isn't exactly ideal. I unbutton my blouse and tie it in a knot at my waist. Linda clips the left side of my hair behind my ear.

Ms. Thompson eyes me when I walk through the doors of the gym. I guess she still hasn't forgiven Sylvia for _almost _getting away with spiking the punch her sophomore year. I don't know why she's still so mad. Sylvia's the one who has to go to catholic school now, not her.

I'd like to tell Ms. Thompson she's got nothing to worry about, Sylvia and are as opposite as you can get. That I'm too much of a chicken to do half the things she does. But I just stare at my shoes while I walk past her.

The only seniors at this thing are Socs and those middle-class-stiffs. If greasers want to dance they go to Buck's.

Linda and I lean against the wall by the bleachers, punch in our hands. Maybe I should've spiked the punch—this dance would be all the more bearable. The band keeps playing upbeat songs, and I pray that I don't run into Bryon. Because, knowing him, he'll want to dance, and I barely look graceful walking down the stairs. The only thing dancing will accomplish is showing everyone that I still haven't grown into my legs.

Linda bounces on the balls of her feet, keeping in time with the drummer. She always had a certain sense of rhythm I don't. After a while some green-eyed kid asks her, and he can barely keep up with her as she races to the large mass of students.

I take a seat on the bleachers, more inclined to watch all of them, the Socs on one side, and greasers on the other. A group of loud guys in leather jackets walk past me, and I pretend to be very interested in my cup, so none of them will notice me. One of them tugs on a strand of my hair as they walk by. My blush travels all the way down to my chest.

I blur of light catches my eye. I look up. I was mistaken. It wasn't light. It was Sandy's hair. Some guy twirls her into the crowd. Her white dress sets her off like a picture frame. I study the curly, golden halo around her head enviously. Just like Sylvia, Sandy always performs best when other people are watching. But, the boy she's dancing with could put even my sister to shame.

I thought Sodapop was a looker at school, but _boy_. He moves like he is free, really and truly alive. Energy radiates off of him as he takes Sandy by the waist and spins her around. His smile is so big and beautiful that I can't help but smile too; although, mine would never light up a room like his.

I can't stop staring at him. I can see the light dancing across his eyes, even from this distance. He spins on the heel of his foot, and I think, he would be the picture underneath the definition of youth in the Webster Dictionary.

I head over to the punch bowl, because I feel so dizzy staring at Sodapop Curtis I need to do something else. I cram a cookie in my mouth, before realizing that some scrawny kid from my math class is smirking at me. I dip my head down and wipe the crumbs from my mouth, wishing I could stop being such a total embarrassment.

I watch Linda dance. The way her long arms extend behind her, and she walks on her toes, makes me think she's about to take flight. I finally start bobbing my head to the music. Everyone else looks like they're having so much fun. Maybe if I just go out there, I won't be as awkward as I think.

Somebody tugs on my skirt from behind, and whispers in my ear. "I've been lookin' for you all over, troublemaker." I can smell vodka on his breath. "We've already missed half the songs."

I let myself relax against his larger frame. He cuddles me closer and presses soft, butterfly kisses along my neck and cheek. I turn my face away and laugh. "The teachers can see us!" I hiss, unconvincingly. "Everybody's watching." This just seems to encourage him more, so he plants a kiss close to my mouth. Sure enough, Ms. Thompson storms over to us.

"_You two_…" She starts.

Bryon moves more smoothly than any drunk person I've ever seen. He positions one hand at the small of my back, and the other gently cradles mine. I lean my head against his shoulder and try to look as innocent as possible. "We're just dancin'."

Her mouth screws up into a sour expression. She takes a step closer, placing one hand on each of our shoulders. "At least four inches apart, this isn't a brothel." I stick my tongue out at her once she turns her back. Bryon snickers.

At least it's a slow song now.

"I like it when your hair is wild like this." He wraps a piece around his finger. His compliment makes my heart swell, and leaves the tips of my fingers and toes warm and buzzing. I've always hated my hair.

I watch Sodapop Curtis over my boyfriend's shoulder. I don't mean to, I just find myself drawn to him. Just like every other girl in the room. Something bubbles in my chest, and I either want to laugh or cry. I wonder if this is what being in love feels like. Because, I think I might be in love with him. No one's ever invaded my thoughts this much, and all in one night. Sodapop could have me wrapped around his finger if he wanted to.

My smile falls when he nuzzles Sandy's ear. My daydreams and fantasies dissolve in my mind. Why would he _ever _want me, when he's got someone like _her_, right in front of him? I feel like crying, because this isn't even about Sodapop anymore, it's about me; how I'm not pretty enough, or skinny enough, or charming enough. For what feels like the hundredth time tonight, I wish I was Sylvia, and I wish I was far, far away from this gym.

"Do you want to go to Buck's now?" Bryon asks.

My tongue feels heavy, and so do my arms and legs. "No." I just want to curl up in my bed and pretend I'm not me.

He nods, and I feel a surge of affection for him. At least my boyfriend is nice.

Before we leave, I grab a couple of cookies from the snack table. There's something I have to make right.

I get home an hour before my curfew, even the bitch thinks that's lame, I can tell. When I get to his door I forget to knock. I don't really think about it, since I accidentally walk in on him naked at least once a month. His back faces me. At first, I think he's asleep, but then he tells me to go away, and I feel even worse.

"I'm really sorry." I whisper and put the cookies on his beside table. I walk out after that, because I wouldn't want to look at my face right now either.

I draw my knees up to my chest once I am on my own bed. I sit there wishing I had said all the things I planned on saying while Bryon walked me home. Like, I'm sorry Irene is his mom, and that she went and married an ass hat like my dad. And I know how he feels, because a lot of the time I feel really alone too. And that I didn't mean what I said—that he doesn't have any friend—because I am his friend. But I didn't. And that's just one more reason that Sodapop Curtis will never know I exist.


	4. Chapter 4

**"Just like a ghost, you've been a-hauntin my dreams."**

**- Classics IV**

"I can't believe you're going, sleepovers are so lame." Sylvia snipes at me as I pack an over night bag. Jane Welsh invited me and a couple other girls to spend the night and go trick-or-treating around her block. It makes me feel about ten-years-old, so I don't say anything back to my sister. Because she's right, I could not be doing anything dumber on Halloween. At least Jane lives in a middle class neighborhood, so I won't see anyone I know.

I head downstairs once I'm ready. My stepbrother watches _The Wild West _in the den. He has avoided me every chance he gets, ever since the night of the dance.

"Hey," I say.

He nods his head in acknowledgement. Staring intently at the action-sequence taking place on screen. Robert Conrad sure is a hunk. We both watch him flip some cowboy over his shoulder.

"What are you going as?" He finally asks.

"A cat." I'd wanted to go as Judy Jetson, but I didn't have enough dough to buy a new skirt _and_ shirt. So I dug through the boxes in the attic, and found one of Sylvia's old outfits. The black pedal pushers and tight sweater to match are anything but modest, and the pants don't fit me right. I have already drawn fake whiskers on, the pair of cat ears dangle around my neck.

He shrugs and I walk out, fed up with his new and aloof attitude. How long can that boy hold a grudge? Irene offers to drive me to Jane's, probably so she can see all of the white picket fences and fantasize that she lives in one of the nice brick houses, with a different family, and a different husband.

"You ain't plannin' on wearin' false lashes are you?" She studies me suspiciously. "I found some of mine missin'."

I don't know what the hell is going through her mind. She knows I'd never risk stealing from her. "No. It was probably Sylvia." I don't care much about ratting her out after the way she was making fun of me.

The bitch literally does not stop talking the entire car ride. Every single word that comes out of her dumb mouth makes me clench my fists tighter and tighter. _You better pray hard that you don't end up like your sister_, _if your daddy gets laid off it's his own fault_, _the lazy drunk_. All she does is talk shit about us. _Then why are you still here?_ I want to scream. The only thing I'll be praying for is that she'll get the sudden urge to jump in front of a bus.

"I'm pickin' you up early tomorrow, so don't even think about doing somethin' stupid." She leaves after that, not even waiting until I get to the door.

Jane answers the door, and she looks mad. "Come on." I follow her up her stairs and down a hallway towards her room. I can't help but stare at how clean the carpet is, there aren't even any cracks on the wall. Maybe the bitch isn't so crazy for wishing for this.

I only recognize Rosie Peters and Jamie. Linda and I must be the only greasy girls here, and I can't find her at the moment. A few of them keep knocking on the bathroom door, the rest whisper to each other.

"Maybe _you _can get her out of there." Jane hisses at me and stomps towards her closet.

I approach Jamie even though we don't talk anymore. She's been acting like a pill ever since the past summer, thinking she's too good for me because her mom doesn't have to work to keep their house.

"What's going on?"

She smirks at my cat whiskers, and rolls her eyes. "Linda locked herself in the bathroom. She's _so _embarrassing." I have a right mind to smack that stupid look right off her face. Linda can't help it, she just gets this way around new people, and Jamie should know that. We use to be best friends with her, after all.

"Whatever. Let's just get ready." I speak to the rest of the group.

One girl crosses her legs and whines, "But I have to pee!"

"Then go find another bathroom." I glare at her. She scowls right back and brushes past me in the doorway.

I slip on my costume, and comb through my hair so that the cat ears slip on easier. I even steal some of Jane's mascara. A lot of the girls keep giving me odd looks. I'm not sure why, they're all getting dressed up too. Except they look more like clowns than ghosts and witches.

I grab my pillowcase, once Jane says we're going to leave. Before I walk out of her bedroom I knock on the bathroom door. "Linda?" She doesn't respond. "I wish you would come trick-or-treating with us. You're the only one here that I can stand." When I still hear nothing but silence, I sigh. "I'll get extra candy for you."

As far as I can tell, Jane's parents aren't home. They must be out at dinner or something. Once we get downstairs Jane prances over to door leading to her garage. I stare at her in confusion, wondering why we don't just use the front door. The rest of the girls follow. My pulse vibrates throughout my chest and neck as I realize I'm the only one properly dressed to go trick-or-treating. All the other girls have their hair done and skirts fit higher on their waist with safety pins.

Oh God, I am so stupid. Really, I should have seen this coming from a mile away. The sick, stomach-turning sensation of anxiety blooms in my chest, and rises up my throat until I feel nauseous enough to throw up. Jane's dainty fingers reach for the set of keys hanging on a hook.

"My parents are gonna give me this car, once I turn 16." She brags. Now I am certain we aren't going to trick-or-treat.

There isn't enough room for everyone. So I have to climb over the girls in the back seat to make it to the way-way-back. The row I sit in faces the rear window, and I feel even more separated from the group than before. I have no clue where we are going, and I neither have, nor want to work up the nerve to ask. I shouldn't have come tonight. I should have just stayed home to watch TV with my stepbrother.

"I don't think we should…" I overheard some petite redhead whisper from the front. "What if they kick us out? Oh, that will be so embarrassing!"

"_Please_, they aren't going to kick us out." I can tell Jamie is rolling her eyes, even though she faces the opposite direction of me. "Odds are they'll be too blitzed to care."

"Tim Shepard's outfit goes there! What if they bring knives?" I nearly laugh, if that girl thinks half of Shepard's outfit won't be strapped she's dumber than dirt.

"Y'all want to go to _Buck's_?" I snort and Jamie turns around to glare at me.

"So?"

I know I'll regret it later. But I'm so fed up with all of them and their pretty hair and perky smiles. Rage courses through me, building up in my throat, I can nearly feel the pressure behind my teeth, like I'll breathe fire at them any second. "Y'all are cheerleaders, and _my sister_ will be there. You think you can get in Buck's, just 'cause you roll your skirt a little?"

"Why do you think we even invited you, _Annie_?" She says my name like it's a bad taste in her mouth. So that's it. They thought having one greaser was enough to get them in. I feel so small now. I turn around and sink as low in my seat as possible. She knows she's wounded me, and I hate it.

Once we get there, it takes me a little longer than everyone else to get out of the car. Not just because they forget to open the trunk for me, because my pride is wounded. I can tell Jane feels bad about it, because she at least offers me a few shots from a bottle of whiskey she has stowed in her purse.

"God, she drinks more than my dad." Jamie mutters to Rosie, loud enough for me to here—I know it's on purpose. I scowl at her, wondering if it's worth starting a fight. I'm nowhere near drunk, but my cheeks buzz with warmth, and I feel an unusual surge of confidence. I know I could take her, but I can't bring myself to even make a fist. I'm such a chicken.

I watch them all prance inside, and I think they're so stupid. They don't need me to get into Buck's. They're pretty enough—they probably have a greater chance of getting in than I do.

I look down at my ill-fitted cat costume, the black ears still sitting on top of my head. I feel like crying. There's no way I can go in looking like this. I would get laughed at. Sylvia would never speak to me again.

I don't even dare approach the front steps, there are too many hoods smoking. I spot another set, to the side of the building, where the music is the tiniest bit quieter. I chuck those stupid cat ears as far away from me as possible, and plop down on the top step.

I wish I had a mirror so I could wipe the whiskers off. But I drew them thickly, and they would smear all over my cheeks and make me look even sillier.

The air is chilly and bites at my skin. I shiver, my teeth chattering, but I still refuse to go inside. I'd rather freeze to death than be subject to ridicule.

Somebody opens the door. It hits my back roughly and I almost topple forward onto the ground. I recover, and hop up on my feet, staring at the figure in the doorway, wide-eyed.

"Fucking hell, I didn't see you there." Dallas Winston eyes me closely, and I try to swallow my shame. His face splits into a grin when he sees my get-up. I stare at my flats. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"I thought I was goin' trick-or-treating."

He cackles, struggling to bring a cigarette to his lips. "Did you take the short-bus here?" I'm sick of his laughing, and I turn to walk away when he adds, "shit, you're Sylvia's kid sister. What's your name?"

"Annie."

"_Annie Belle?_" He shakes his head. "Your parents really are assholes." The smoke he exhales acts as a thin veil in front of him, and he stares at me through it. I find that I am rooted to the spot, no matter how much my brain tells me to beat it, I can't move. He's taller than me, but even so, his cold blue eyes stare at me from beneath his lashes—they're red. I know my sister could do better than him. He looks kind of weird when he smiles, with those small, sharp teeth. But something about him is so handsome. He rocks on his heels, at one point I think he will fall forward, but he manages to lean back enough so he leans against the side of the roadhouse. The light from the bedrooms upstairs illuminate the bottom half of his face, his eyes glitter in the darkness.

I shiver some more. "Where's Sylvia?"

"Off being a bitch."

"Y'all had a fight?" I ask, even though it's none of my business.

"Well, she tossed a beer in my face…so I'd say, yeah." I watch him take another drag. It's a 50-50 chance. Sylvia was either pissed out of her mind, or she wanted the spotlight on her, because she performs so much better under it.

"You're wasting your time with her," the eight shots of whiskey start to make an appearance again.

"What do you mean?"

"Sylvia," I pry the cigarette from his thumb and middle finger, feeling even more confident. I take a drag, managing not to cough up a lung. "She ain't ever gonna love you more than she loves herself."

He watches me in amusement. I reckon if he weren't already two-sheets to the wind, he'd pop me one good. "What makes you think I want her to _love _me?"

"Her diary."

"No shit, you really do read that thing. When she told me, I just thought she was ragging on you 'cause you're sisters and all. You really are a brat, ain't you?"

"_No_, she's just a bitch." I retort. "What else am I 'spose to do in this shit hole anyway?"

A high-pitched laugh erupts from his throat and he tips his head back. He laughs harder than anyone I've ever seen, maybe. After a while he takes a deep breath and asks, "How old are you?"

"15."

His eyebrows disappear under his bangs. "You look about twelve…but you're pretty, y'all are both pretty."

My chest inflates till I think it will explode. Even though he's high as shit, and drunk off his ass, Dallas Winston just told me I am pretty. And now, maybe I love him even more than I do Sodapop Curtis.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Ahhh I know all of the chapters have been pretty depressing, but I just can't seem to write Annie into a happy setting. She's too much of a drama queen. Rated T for language and other shtuff.**

* * *

**Dandelions and Swing Sets**

Sylvia told me this would happen. Why didn't I listen to her?

"Annie, he's gonna slip right through your fingers if you don't put out," she said.

It's sad. It's sad that I don't care about losing him. My chest aches, and my stomach feels like a black hole, but it isn't because Bryon won't be walking me to my classes at school anymore. It's because he thinks Danni Jackson is prettier, sweeter, and better than me. I know this because Linda saw them kiss near the dumpsters behind the school.

We never really break up. All of a sudden I see him holding hands with that skank and it's done. He doesn't even look me in the eye when he walks into Algebra.

I sit on the steps of school. And I want to cry I want to cry. But not one tear comes, not even when I stare at the bumper of a stingray until my eyes burn.

"What the hell is your problem?" Sylvia asks, once I sit down in back of Dallas' T-bird. I don't answer her. My mouth is glued shut. I couldn't respond even if I wanted to.

I stare at the back of my sister's head. Her blonde hair rolls along her shoulders like a wheat field. Her neck is long, and slim, and she knows just how to brush her fingertips along it to make herself look perfect. She turns around to scowl at me. Even with her eyebrows drawn together, she's pretty. Like Sandy, like Jamie, like my mother. I want my mother. I want to hug my mother more badly than I've ever wanted anything.

Because right now, there is so much sadness and self-hate instilled in my chest, only a mother could make it dissolve.

Bryon was annoying. But at least he liked me. At least he cared what I thought.

Dallas drives with all of the windows rolled down. I try to enjoy it, even though the brisk breeze pinches my cheeks, it won't be bearable for much longer. The smell of dead leaves lulls me into a half-sleep like state. Some Rolling Stones song plays.

"Go ahead, go ahead and light up the town…remember, I'll always be around," fades in and out of my head. I never would peg Dallas as a fan, but the way he lightly smiles at Sylvia makes me happy. I don't know why, but it does. She smiles back playing with the hair along his neckline, like she always does.

After a time we pull up next to a park. I am sent out to collect Dandelions—so they can be alone—like a five-year-old. The grass is dead, crunchy and yellow, so I don't know what they expect.

I wander around for a bit. Finally coming to a rusty swing set. A dark haired boy takes up the first swing. His head hangs, staring at his lap. I wonder if he's crying under that mop of greased hair. I settle into the swing next to him. I feel almost drunk.

He looks up, startled. His dark eyes as round as saucers.

"I don't have anywhere else to go."

I study his face. At first I think it's dirty. It's not. He's so tan it's nearly impossible to recognize the fading bruise on his left cheek. It's very easy to recognize the fresh one on his right. He turns his head away from me, embarrassed. I want to tell him I understand, but his quietness is contagious, and I find myself staring at the foggy windows of Dallas' car.

"You were in my study hall," I begin. He stares at me, wordlessly. "Your friends always use to give Mr. Yates so much shit, 'cause he was kind of heavy. An' I just remember you never laughed when everybody else did." The silence was so suffocating I had to say something.

He opens his mouth a couple times, and then shuts it, again and again and again. I can see how hard he tries to find the right words; thoughts shine across his eyes, like light bouncing off of his long lashes. I think they are the prettiest eyes I've ever seen, even prettier than my sister's or Sodapop Curtis'.

"I don't have anywhere else to go either." He says finally. He blushes and turns away from me, then digs around his pocket, probably looking for a pack. He comes up empty handed, and chews his lip. "Shi—" he nearly curses, and blushes harder. I try to hide my smile.

More times passes by. I bounce my legs, and kick up a pile of mulch in front of me. The silence isn't so uncomfortable anymore, but if I'm not home soon, Irene will put me in a girl's home.

Two long car honks echo in my head. I try to wave goodbye to the dark haired boy, but my fingers are so cold I can hardly bend them. He smiles, kind of.

Dallas slides over into the passenger seat. Sylvia seems passed out in the back. "You can drive." He cups his hands around a freshly lit cigarette, not even reacting to my hanging jaw.

"You'd let me drive your car?" I ask incredulously.

He smirks. "It ain't my car."

"Can I have a cigarette?" He passes me his pack without hesitation, and doesn't even move to stop me when I walk away from the open door. The dark haired boy's face splits into a full-fledged grin when I hand him his present. It looks foreign on him, but nice. I try to memorize the way he looks then, because I don't think he'll ever smile again.

Dallas still isn't mad when I get into the driver's seat. I guess he's too happy about fucking Sylvia.

I concentrate on maintaining the speed limit, checking every driveway we pass for cop cars. Dallas notices my anxiety and snorts. "Sylvia likes going fast." He comments.

"No kidding."

He cackles. I don't think I'll ever get use to how high his laugh is. It almost makes me crack a grin. "You're funny."

I know what he's doing, he did it at Buck's on Halloween too. I'm 15, too old to fall for these tricks and lines, but I do anyway. I never know any better. I think it's something us Belle girls inherited from our mom.

After a few minutes he gets antsy. He starts sticking his head out the window, his arm, his leg, anything to get a rise out of me. I tell him to stop, that he'll get us pulled over and I'll never be able to get my license. I tell him to knock it off. He glares at me for the first time then. I wish I could scoot against my door, further away from him. But if I did that I'd probably swerve into the other lane. He looks like he has a good mind to hit me, but he manages to cuss me out instead.

It's then that I know, he and Sylvia will never last. Because they're too alike for their own good.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Sister's Love**

"Went and got himself arrested. It was wild." The words echo in my ears. I knew Dallas was a hood, from the moment he picked up Sylvia for their first date. But I never pictured him in jail. He was too smart to get caught.

I should have known something was wrong from the minute Jackie Brown and Mary West asked to sit with Linda and I. They are too pretty and popular to be caught dead eating lunch with us. They usually head down to the drugstore to eat.

Apparently it was a wild night at Buck's, but more specifically, a wild night for Sylvia and Dallas. Apparently several cash registers had been cleaned out along Sutton. If that wasn't enough, 'Ole Dallas was half-crocked and feeling downright mean when the cop picked him up. Long story short, said cop wound up driving Dallas to the station with a tooth knocked loose. I tried not to wince as Jackie recounted all of the juicy little details.

"What about my sister?"

"Somebody saw her dancin' on the bar at Buck's." Mary stares at me with wide eyes, and says, "She's _so _pretty." As if I am somehow unaware of this fact.

I walk out onto the steps of school later. Sylvia is supposed to pick me up, but based on everything I've heard, she definitely will not be showing up.

"You walkin' home?" Linda asks. "Maybe my dad and I can drive you." I try not to seem too hasty when shaking my head. I feel bad. No one with a lick of sense would want to forgo a car ride with her dad alone. Somehow he always ends up yelling at her, even when I'm there.

I open my mouth to say sorry, but a souped up car engine cuts me off. Everything happens so fast. I recognize the dented fender instantly, and a vague hope it might be Dallas in the driver's seat tickles the back of my mind. It's Sylvia; somehow the red paint job seems less exciting without the familiar greaser behind it.

I rush over to her once she's out of the door. "Are you OK?"

"Not now," She hisses, looking as pissed as I've ever seen her. She looks tuff; she doesn't have her uniform on. I guess she skipped school today. Irene will have a field day when we get home. I would have told her so too, but once she dealt with me she made a beeline straight towards the middle of the parking lot. It's inevitable she will do something reckless, and I'd be lying if I say I don't want to see it.

A curvy, freckled girl meets her halfway.

"I told you to stay away from him you little cunt." If I didn't know Sylvia meant business before, the seething hatred in her eyes is enough enlightenment.

"OK. Bye now."

Syvlia scowls behind the girl at a lanky boy in a leather jacket. "He your boyfriend? Hey, your girl's been riding dick all over town—_my_ man's dick."

"Shut the fuck up and leave."

Sylvia shoves her shoulder. "Make me."

"Put your hand on me one more time. One more time, slu—" Sylvia cuts her off with a hit to the head. Two pairs of small manicured hands latch onto to each other. It's odd that they seem to be in sync in their movements, always able to predict what the other will do.

They hold each other at an awkward arms length, pulling shirts, hair, anything in reach. Neither of them seem able to throw a proper punch. Their wrists are too loose, and they strike with the palm and underside of their knuckles. Maybe if you're mad enough, it doesn't matter if you form your fist the right way or not. I can already see blood, and it sure as hell ain't my sisters.

A small crowd gathers by now, into a sparse circle. The guys only chuckle and give the occasional advice or encouragement. Other than that, nobody makes a sound. Not even the two girls wrestling and flinging each other across the pavement.

Sylvia gains the upper hand and manages to stand up. Her hair is disheveled as well as her blouse. I think she is too tired to do much else besides grip the brunette's roots tightly. But she hits her head again, hard enough to make it thump.

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," she repeats like a mantra. She drags the girl over to the nearest car, and slams her head into the taillight.

"Get her offa me! Get her the fuck offa me!"

By now people rush to drag them apart, knowing it will get out of hand soon.

"Morgan's coming." I hear carry among the people behind me. Sure enough, the principal stands right by the flagpole, squinting his eyes at the spot we all stand in.

I act fast, shoving through the crowd and muttering curses that would make my sister proud. "Sylvia, c'mon, cops are going to get here soon. We got to split." She seems dazed as I drag her towards the parked T-Bird. I don't even bother asking if she'll drive.

The other girl got a few licks in as well. Blood trickles from her split lip, and her scraped knees and hands.

I have seen fights before. Seen Sylvia in fights before. So I wonder why she quietly cries as she takes puffs from a cigarette.

"_Are you OK?_"

She hiccups. "Dallas is in jail."

"I know."

"He thinks they'll give him nine months—if he's lucky."

"You can go see him."

She openly weeps after that. "He cheated on me and went and got himself hauled in, he knew what this would do to me! He said he loved me. What did I do wrong?" I pretend I don't notice she's crying, because she seems down right embarrassed.

"Sonuvabitch."

"Shut up."

"He cheated on you."

She turns fully towards me, looking even more menacing with mascara smeared under her eyes. "I said shut up. You don't know shit about boys, Annie."

"I've had a boyfriend." I reply quietly, not even convincing myself.

"Bryon? You didn't even let him get to second base, no wonder he dumped you. God, could you be anymore embarrassing?"

I narrow my eyes. "You didn't use to take no shit, Syl."

"You'd like me to break up with him, wouldn't you?"

"What the hell are you sayin'?"

"You like him," she smirks and my cheeks flare. "'Cause whenever he's around you look exactly like you do now."

"_Do not_."

"_Do too_. He's gonna get me out of this shit town, and you're gonna be stuck here with Irene and dad."

I don't even bother to pull into the driveway. I can't stand to be in the same space as her. "You're such a bitch, Sylvia." I know my words could never cut her as much as hers cut me.


End file.
